Season Five Tidbits
by Notaslongasthat
Summary: Little pieces that could go here and there over season five. Rating may go up in future so M to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**I published these drabbles on Tumblr over the past couple weeks. I haven't posted anything on here in a while so I thought I would update with these. It also gives me inspiration to post more drabbles by having them here in one story. I hope to keep continuing these but I know I will be busier now that summer is over. I hope you enjoy/enjoyed if you've read already. Ha.**

Cora ate a small breakfast that morning, not having much of an appetite after her argument with Robert the night before. She opted to have a tray brought to her in bed; not wanting to feign politeness with Robert in front of Rosamund. Though they were both skilled with that practice from having been married so long, Rosamund would pick up on anything amiss and she didn't want any unnecessary confrontation. Although, she didn't want to forget about the fight either. She pushed the remainder of scrambled eggs and half bitten toast to the edge of the tray and sipped on her coffee before ringing for Baxter to dress. Fortunately, Rosamund's driver was taking them to the station early so that they wouldn't be rushed for Rose's tea with the Russians that afternoon.

After she was dressed, she walked down Rosamund's stairs to see Robert wishing his sister goodbye. He was promising to visit again soon when their eyes briefly met. His stomach somersaulted and he averted his gaze, standing awkwardly by the door. He forced himself to meet her eye again- this time with an apologetic smile but she didn't return it.

"Goodbye, Rosamund," they exchanged kisses and Robert followed them out the door held open by Rosamund's butler. Baxter had finished loading the suitcases and climbed into the car after Robert and Cora.

The silence in the backseat was heavy between them; as if thickened by the agitated thoughts churning in their heads. They often spent car rides quietly together in the backseat; but those were comfortable silences. They would feel calm and reassured just beside each other; often with their hands clasped together, exchanging squeezes that met any need for communication. They sat now as far apart as two strangers would in a shared taxi. Her hands dangled rigidly by her knees and his were crumpled over each other tightly to his chest.

She sighed as a memory of a recent time shared in the backseat of a car in London – during Rose's season – floated briefly through her thoughts replaced with bewilderment at the man she looked at now. He was definitely not that same playful, attentive, and passionate husband that flirted with her at the palace. He was not the same man who would share spectacularly indulgent kisses with her as they were chauffeured across London – not caring that it wouldn't look proper if they were seen. Which, all too often, they were. She shivered when she remembered his salacious words against her neck mixed with the pleasure of his demanding hands pressing well past her knees as he whispered, "I care far more about _us_ and how _we feel_ ," he murmured, "than whatever anyone else will say."

She sighed louder this time: a high-pitched despondent push of air and marvelled at how things had changed so much in so little time.

"What is it?" he obliged in an annoyed tone, thinking it wouldn't be wise not to respond. His voice was even gruffer than he intended.

Her eyes widened. She hadn't been aware of the intensity of her sighs. She paused. "Nothing to bother you with," she said bitterly.

"Well, fine," he bit. "I won't let it 'bother' me then."

"Right. I knew it wouldn't."

"I'll tell you what does bother me," he uttered sharply. "How I am made out to be in the wrong when I came to surprise you - to give you a treat - only to be left alone imagining you, _my_ wife, out with another man."

"I didn't know you were coming, Robert. You made it seem like coming to London with me was the last thing you wanted to do. Heaven forfend you might actually have to spend any meaningful time with me or listen to what I think. I know you think it unfeasible that any man might want to do _only_ that," she growled.

"I – I didn't… I never said that," he defended.

"You said it is hard to believe," she let out a frustrated choke remembering how he spat those words harshly at her. Oh, she didn't want to cry. "And you mustn't believe it or you would have no reason to be angry. You could have taken me out still. I don't think you were coming to surprise me or treat me at all. It was all for you but if I'm so objectionable to be around, then why did you come? You've made it very clear – and not just last night – that you think I'm not worth 'bothering' with."

"Of course I don't think that," he struggled to look at her as she stared down at her gloved hands in her lap.

"You didn't even say goodbye to me when I left," her small voice cracked; the frustration on her features shadowed by sheer sadness. Her crystal blue eyes were glazed over and she took a deep, steadying breath; calming the breaths that threatened to shudder if she said anything more. She didn't. She shifted away from him and sat as close to the window as she could. She twisted her neck and stared at the pavement as it whipped behind them – focusing on how every spin of the wheels brought them closer to the train station – closer to … home.

"Cora…" he reached over to place his hand over hers and grip her fingers with his.

She clenched her eyes tightly shut. "Don't."

He hesitated but released her hand. "You can't possibly believe I don't care."

"Oh – so not only do I not have anything worthwhile to hear, you're telling me what to believe? Well, Robert," she forcefully stressed the syllables of his name, "It's hard to believe otherwise when every time I try to become involved, you push me aside."

"When have I done that?!"

"Pip's corner," she began. "Dismissing my thoughts on getting a wireless, brushing aside our anniversary like it didn't matter-" she began listing.

"What?" he scowled. "We had a dinner party."

"Yes. A lovely dinner party organized by the staff. You barely remembered before and quite frankly – if it hadn't been for the dinner, I would have guessed you didn't remember on the day. You declared to the table that I have beauty, brains, a heart and a conscience but I've seen very little evidence that you believe I possess anything but first thing – and only because you made it clear last night how that's all a man could possibly see in me."

"Well, every man would see that…" he tried to lighten the mood. He knew it was a mistake the second it left his mouth. She glared at him, her hands actually beginning to shake.

"That's all you have to say?" she fumed, her voice dangerously low behind clenched teeth.

"Of course not," he pleaded. "Cora, I believed everything I said then. You know I still do."

"Oh, do I?" she disparaged. "And do you also believe what you said last night?"

The immediate flash of uncertainty in his eyes hurt her the most. She could feel the weight of his reluctance to speak in the air then he stated bluntly, "Well, I do think that Bricker fellow wants a lot more from you than your observations about art. And as you said yourself, I have every right to say what I think."

She swallowed the piercing pain down her throat. "And I guess _you_ do," she bit into her lip and crossed her legs away from him – not speaking to him again for the rest of the ride to King's Cross, the train ride to Yorkshire or the short drive to Downton.

* * *

"How extraordinary was it to see Mama completely shocked from that prince from her past?" Robert chuckled, shutting the connecting dressing room door behind him.

"Hmm," Cora hummed emotionlessly, flipping a page in her novel. She didn't look up from the book when she added, "it's almost as extraordinary as the fact that you seem to think you're sleeping in here."

Robert's hands stilled at the knot of his robe. "Cora," he hesitated. She shuffled further into the bed, bringing her knees almost up to her chest and buried her nose into her book.

Silence.

It was when she saw the outline of his body in her peripheral vision standing on her side of the bed that she turned, raising her eyebrows in warning.

"I don't want to spend another night away from you," he told her softly. "I know last night, well - I was cross and the things I said came out all wrong…"

She turned back to her book - not actually reading anymore - but just staring at the unfocused words on the page, blurry not just from fatigue but from tears that pooled in her eyes. She blinked them back and swallowed.

"Robert," she pressed steadily, "You see, that's just it. I don't think anything you said came out wrong but rather you let slip what you really think. That's what happens when you drink alone when you're upset. I've seen it on many occasions over our marriage, I just didn't think such low opinions and harsh accusations about me would ever be what you let slip."

"I was upset, Cora," he pleaded. "I wanted so badly to spend the evening with you."

" _You_ wanted so badly. _You, you, you!_ All I'm hearing is what you wanted when what I should be hearing is an apology, Robert. Don't you think I would have rather spent the night with you too?" she jerked her head to him from her book, eyes widened. "I asked you to come to London, remember? And when I saw you sitting in Rosamund's drawing room, I was delighted. Did you know that? We could have had a wonderful evening together still but then you said what you did and -" she shut the spine of her book loudly and set it on her bed table. She switched off her lamp and curled away from him.

"And … what?" he asked quietly in the darkened room. "Cora, please," he sat down on the edge of the bed behind her and placed a hand on her hip. "Darling…"

She lifted her hip, shrugging his hand off her quickly.

"Darling…" he repeated.

"Don't call me that. Not when your behaviour shows you obviously don't think I am. You've had all evening to show me otherwise but you've scarcely said a word to me," she choked. "So, please…" she tightened the covers over her and shifted away from him to the centre of their bed.

He turned her bedside lamp back on. "You're right," he admitted. "I should have done. I was just so flabbergasted by this Russian prince thing and …" he sighed. "It's hard for me to apologize when I know I've been so thoughtless. And unjust," he added.

"…Are you going to?" she scoffed and rolled her eyes into her pillow.

He grabbed her hip again but instead of shaking him off, she stared at him expectantly over her shoulder. He took a deep breath and nodded slowly as if steadying himself as he spoke, "I am sorry for what I said. I was angry but it shouldn't have been at you, Cora. I wish I didn't say what I did… It _isn't_ true. I so badly wanted to surprise you and be with you but my anger clouded my judgement. You didn't know I was coming so of course it wasn't wrong for you to accept another invitation. It's just… "

"You were cross," she finished blandly.

"Yes," his hand moved from her hip, lining his fingers down her arm to brush his knuckles along the smooth skin of her wrist. "And because of how I acted, now you are with me," he sighed regretfully before flicking her lamp back off. The mattress lifted as he rose from their bed away from her. Watching his slouched, defeated posture in the dark as he reached the door to his dressing room made something in her succumb.

"Wait," she choked. A pause. "You may stay."

He turned around, searching her eyes as he did. He couldn't tell if she was angry from the flat way she spoke. Her expression was hard to read in the darkness. "I don't like spending the nights apart from you, either," she faltered through a whisper.

He shrugged off his robe, tossing it onto the settee at the foot of their bed with a cautious but optimistic smile. Climbing in beside her, he kissed a tentative kiss to her forehead.

"Goodnight, Robert," she was quiet but firm as his lips left her skin.

"Goodnight, Cora," he brushed his fingers though her hair. He combed a curl behind her ear before his fingertips ran to palm over her cheek. " _My_ darling," he hushed reassuringly before he settled beside her to sleep. She felt the weight of his arm across her waist: a weight that usually provided her solely comfort. But tonight, she couldn't rid the sinking feeling in her stomach that accompanied his touch. She couldn't put a name to it but when she shuffled forward slightly and he pulled her back to him, she realized that the familiar comfort of his embrace was still there - but it was tinged with what she was perturbed to realize she could only describe as feeling stuck.

What was happening?

So much of her wanted to roll over into him and make her uneasiness go away; let her insecurities fall away under the rush of his touch – the reassurance of his soothing kisses. But she didn't. She didn't because she knew like his touch, his lips would be affectionate but tainted tonight: marking her with a possessive trail of warm nips and kisses to claim her. No…she would wait until his touch wasn't laced with this threatening feeling in her chest mixed with a burning in her throat.

She swallowed. Looking down at his wrist draped over her ribs she almost didn't recognize the embrace as his. She thought seriously about moving his arm behind her- back to his side – away from her. But, she couldn't. She just wanted his touch back. Robert. No jealousy, no bitterness – just the adoring and warm presses he naturally pressed against her skin before they fell asleep each night. She disguised a sigh through a yawn and shuffled her hips closer to him, closing her eyes.

Maybe tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Set during/just after 5x04**

It was a long, sleepless night. Though all too aware of the other's unsettled presence beside them, neither acknowledged it let alone did anything to mollify each other. They tossed and turned, unable to adjust too much since they stubbornly avoided facing each other. The tension in the room was irrefutable; so much that they were too uncomfortable to fall into restful sleep. When the first hint of morning came, he rose from bed abruptly – setting straight for his dressing room with no thought of her. Although he almost always got up before her, the mornings she was awake she would sense him watching her – that is if he didn't sweep his hands over her skin or through her hair in good morning.

The harsh sound of the door shutting behind him, precise and firm, made her stomach clench. She felt queasy in a way that only restless sleep and uncertainty can bring about. Burying her face in her pillow, she grumbled incoherently. She was not ready for the day ahead.

They were both dressed in silence – Baxter and Bates well aware of the previous night's drama at dinner. Lord Grantham's rage was known but seldom seen so every time it surfaced, the servant's gossip was certain.

The library was full when Cora came down. Robert worked at his desk as everyone enjoyed tea - Mary and Tom sat near the windows while Rose and Edith sat on the red couch across from Shrimpie and Simon Bricker.

"Mama," Edith greeted. Carson nodded to Thomas to make Cora her tea.

"Good morning," she smiled to the room. Her smile was met by everyone but Robert whose back was rigidly hunched to his desk as he scribbled away at a document. She sat at the ottoman near Shrimpie and Simon Bricker. "Mr. Bricker, you mentioned at dinner last night that you wanted to compare the photographs you brought of della Francesca's nativity to our painting… we mustn't forget before you go."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he slurred candidly and a little too deeply for the comfort of everyone in the room who all shuffled slightly where they sat. Bricker's eyes traced purposefully over Cora's face before he added with a practiced grin, "I've been longing to since you first showed it to me. I do suspect that it is a match."

"That would be marvelous," she gushed animatedly. "Wouldn't it… Robert?"

"Mmm," he mused from his desk. "Yes," he stood and walked behind the ottoman where she sat. "It would definitely be something to marvel at," he gave Bricker a quick cautionary scowl and placed his hands on Cora's shoulders. Tom, Mary, Rose and Edith shared nervous glances.

"Well, I think we have a good chance," Bricker retorted. "The elements we observed at the museum were strikingly similar. Weren't they, Cora?"

"Lady Grantham," Robert corrected sternly but Cora's response overlapped him.

"I thought they were too but you are the expert after all, Mr. Bricker," she smiled as Robert clutched where her shoulders met her upper arms. "Carson," Cora turned to where he stood by the door. "Could you see that Mr. Bricker's photographs are retrieved and bring them to the library before we finish tea?"

"Certainly, milady," he nodded before exiting.

"Very good," Robert remarked and released his grasp on Cora's arms. "Then you and Shrimpie will catch the same train again?" he asked although his intonation did not imply any question.

Shrimpie spoke – breaking the tension between the other three; a relief to the room. "Yes. That's what Mr. Bricker and I discussed," he looked between Cora and Robert curiously – almost sadly – but he knew that the awkward banter he witnessed wouldn't happen if there was no desire left between the couple. In fact, he couldn't ever remember a time jealousy played any part between Susan and him. "It – err - makes more sense to save you getting your car out twice," he filled the silence.

"Well, that wouldn't much matter. It has been lovely having you both," Cora said genuinely, setting her tea down on the table beside the couch where Shrimpie sat.

"Oh, yes!" Rose agreed. "Oh, Daddy – you simply must visit more."

"Absolutely," Robert nodded to Shrimpie who looked unsure. "You are welcome anytime, remember."

"That means a lot, Robert, Cora - truly."

"Well, of course…" Cora faltered.

Bricker noticed the puzzled expression on her face. "If we're lucky," he interjected, "and your picture turns out to be a study, I would be so appreciative if I would be just as welcomed back. To get photographs for my book."

"Oh, yes -" Mary began cordially. She raised an eyebrow at Bricker and inquired with slight derision, "How is your book coming along?"

Robert hid a snort. To anyone who didn't know Mary, the intent behind her question would be perfectly hidden so Mr. Bricker replied brazenly, "Well enough but it will be much better – and much more interesting – if the picture your family has here turns out to be a study."

"I bet," Mary gibed.

The door opened and Carson entered, photographs in hand. "And speaking of which," Cora exhaled and looked to Carson. "Thank you, Carson," her gratitude was sincere when he handed her the photographs; another awkward moment avoided.

"Shall we?" Bricker asked in Cora's direction as he stood.

"Yes, _we_ shall" Robert stepped in. " _We_ are curious to see if _our_ picture matches," he couldn't control how he emphasized his words. "Please lead the way, Mr. Bricker," Robert commanded. He encircled an arm around Cora's waist, hoisting her off the ottoman, pressing his thumb unapologetically into the curve of her hip and waited as Bricker watched. Bricker's sneer was subtle but he recovered quickly and led the way out of the library, leaving the couple to follow his begrudging steps.

* * *

"Oh, yes," Bricker said, pleased. Cora and Robert stood tensely and watched Bricker's long frame lean over the table, comparing the della Francesca to his photographs. "There are definite shared elements here. Oh, yes. Look here," he stepped back, encouraging Cora to stand close to him so she could see the photographs in his hand. Robert followed warily by her side, clenching his fingers in his fist when Bricker passed a photograph into Cora's palm; grazing her knuckles with his as he withdrew his hand. Oh, Robert just knew it was deliberate. Cora, however, seemed not to notice.

"It was this angel here," she pointed to the angel on the far right, "that you believed ours was a study for when you showed me at the gallery. Oh, and I thought so then too but seeing them next to each other like this – well, I'm thrilled."

"It is rather wonderful!" Bricker looked over Cora's shoulder to Robert as she looked down at their painting. His smile couldn't veil the smug satisfaction written on his face. Robert shook his head disdainfully, his glower penetrated over Cora's head. Quickly, he reached down to squeeze Cora's empty hand.

"I agree. I always knew the painting was special. We've always been proud to have it here. Haven't we, darling?" he took the photo gently out of her other hand, keeping his eyes on her when he passed it back to Bricker and quickly gripped that hand as well.

"Oh, yes! You should see the painting of the Nativity at the gallery, Robert. When Mr. Bricker showed it to me, I was in awe – really. It's so moving to see it up close. You can really feel the impact of what the figures must feel in the painting… it was stunning."

"Your reverence was comparable to the reverence the figures in the painting portray. Yet, you felt like that magpie. I could tell," Bricker chuckled warmly. Cora felt Robert's hold on her tighten. Her polite laugh was cut off by Robert's resolute grumble; piercing through the room.

"We _will_ go."

Bricker coughed. "Speaking of going, I'm afraid I must do just that. The car will be out front soon and Shrimpie will be waiting."

"Oh, but do telephone if you can arrange to get the picture photographed for your book. It would be our pleasure. Wouldn't it, Robert? …Robert?" she tried to tug her wrist from his grip but he didn't realize how tightly he held her.

"The pleasure would be mine really. You will be doing me a favour," and with that, he scurried out of the painting room.

When his footsteps were no longer heard, Robert automatically relaxed enough for Cora to pull away from him.

"For Heaven's sake, Robert! You certainly did not get out of bed on the right side as I asked…"

"Oh come on now, Cora - I'm trying but that man -" he grumbled.

" - has done absolutely nothing wrong! He's polite, pleasant and he is here to see the painting after all," she gesticulated wildly to the Della Francesca. "And he is happy to include us in his work. I don't see how any of this warrants your brutish behaviour!"

"It does," he spat, "because he doesn't only have an eye for art, Cora. I don't see how you don't see that!"

"Because that's absurd," she scoffed. "And even if he did, I'd be surprised if you remembered what that 'eye' looks like." She muttered quickly under her breath, "so much so that I'm beginning to wonder if there is indeed a right side of my bed for you to get out of…"

"What does that mean?!"

"Oh," she groaned and rolled her eyes to the floor, frustrated. "Nothing – it doesn't mean anything. So when do you want to go to London, then?" her surly snarl demanded; a hand rigid at her hip.

"Oh, well, we - we should go see the painting before we see that … cad – ahem, that _lad_ again. So, I reckon that means we should go soon since he _always_ seems to be here," he whined and fidgeted with the cufflinks on his sleeve. Something about the way he slouched against the table next to the painting, frowning, made him look vulnerable and boyish to her. Instead of contradicting his complaint, she titled her head – examining him. He pulled his arms to his chest, bunching them together.

"Robert…" she breathed slowly after a moment. "Robert, please. Look at me," she quietly assuaged.

Their tired eyes met; both misty-blue from lack of sleep. The room stilled. Almost all of the frustration between them stagnated as Cora stepped forward, closing the gap between her and the table. "Robert," she pressed a hand at his knee. "This," she motioned to the painting to his right, "is a good thing. We have something of value here that we are now almost certain is a piece of something even bigger. That's good for Downton. Good for _us_ ," she added.

"Hmmph," he permitted, his arms uncrossing from his chest.

"So…" she prodded; her hand running back and forth above his knee. She gave him a pleading, loving look and he felt his fight relinquishing. He stilled her hand under his.

"So?" he inquired, his voice softening.

"So, I don't like seeing you irritated and unhappy when there's no reason for it. Or at any time as a matter of fact."

His stomach fell not just because of the worried look that took over her face but because of the words Shrimpie had said to him a couple nights before in the library. His words echoed in his head; tormenting him. " _If you'd ever been as unhappy as I am, you'd know why not_ …"

Of course Robert didn't understand why Shrimpie and Susan couldn't just live apart; try and work their marriage out. He couldn't even imagine being in that place - that state of misery. Especially not as he stared at Cora's widened eyes - seeing her hover over him; trying to comfort him just moments after he was aggravating her to no end. He couldn't be happy without her, he knew. He lifted her hand off his knee and pressed it to his lips.

"Oh, but I'm not _nor_ have I ever been."

"…Robert?" she furrowed her eyebrows, perplexed as he tugged gently on her arm until she leaned next to him against the small table. When she craned her neck up at him curiously, he couldn't help but press a devoted kiss to her cheek.

"I am not unhappy," he expressed with a firm staccato on every word and kissed the spot on her jawline that met her pulse. His lips lingered on her skin; brushing their way back to the spot he kissed on her cheek before he withdrew.

"Well then, what? -," she stuttered and stared at him; befuddled.

"Shrimpie and Susan are going to get a divorce," he answered solemnly.

"No!" she gasped. It wasn't what she was expecting to hear but it did not shock her exactly either. "Oh no," she sighed. "It's such a shame."

"Is it, though?" he countered.

"Robert, really…" she griped.

"Of course I thought so at first too. Then Shrimpie told me that if I had ever been so unhappy in my marriage, that I would understand. I don't. I've never understood. I've never even come close. That's all I mean," he explained without reservation.

"Oh…" as she absorbed his words a delicate smile appeared; followed by a faint blush.

"And I never will understand," he continued. "So, if I seem unhappy … just know that you make me happy," he professed wholeheartedly.

"Good and that's lucky," her heartfelt whisper shook and she looked up at him affectionately. Nodding her head, she assured him steadily, "because _you_ make me happy."

He reached down for her left hand; squeezing it in his right. He traced his thumb over her wedding ring firmly. He gulped uneasily, "Do I really? Make you happy?"

"You've asked me this once or twice before, you know," she rolled her eyes in a teasing manner and stilled his thumb on top of her ring. "And I've just said that you that you do. You have since the moment – "

" – that I fell in love with you," he proclaimed; finishing for her.

She paused thoughtfully. Trying to restrain the trepidation in her voice, she granted, "and as long as that is true, my answer will be yes."

Robert bowed his head and hummed. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer until her forehead rested on his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "It really is marvelous. Incredible."

She looked up and saw him staring in disbelief at the painting before his gaze turned; fixed pointedly on her. "Oh, yes. It is," she shook her head in astonishment; unable to muster anything more to say.

So, she didn't.

But the silence was a welcome one. She shivered when his knuckles drew lines on the hollow of her cheek while his right hand fell from her waist; kneading into her back.

"Cora…" he began.

The sound of Rose's voice interrupted him. "Cousin Robert, Cousin Cora! We're all outside saying goodbye." They separated as she emerged in the room. "The car is leaving soon. Please, come!" and she was gone as hastily as she appeared.

"We better go," she resigned.

"Yes. We better," he agreed and followed her out front.

He watched as she bid Simon Bricker goodbye - taking calming, steadying breaths. That man irked him more than he cared to admit; even to himself. But after he wished Shrimpie a sincere goodbye, he felt an odd – almost unsettling - feeling of restoration in his chest. When the car moved, he reached for Cora's hand and they watched it disappear down the drive. He squeezed her hand firmly once it was gone. When she squeezed back and began pulling him toward the house he realized, for the first time in a while, just how valuable everything they had was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Needless to say, I own nothing.**

They had spent three full nights apart and Robert found himself still seething in his dressing room, alone, on an otherwise perfect Sunday morning. It wasn't just his temper that flared when he woke. His right hand and wrist throbbed now more than before - only reminding him of the dreadful events of Thursday night. Although he didn't need the reminding because the image of that ghastly man standing so close to Cora in their dressing gowns, by their bed, was etched in his memory. The way she looked down to her feet, ashamed, left an indelible mark on his heart.

The marks on his fist however would not last but the pain still screamed at him. The bandage Bates gave him on Friday morning must have unravelled in his uneasy sleep over the previous nights - due to his picking away at it nervously throughout the days. He dared not rewrap it himself because every time he had tried, he recoiled in pain.

As he rose out of bed, the pain in the rest of his body nagged at him; urging him to fall back into bed. He couldn't though. He had already overslept longer than he had in years and he didn't want talk throughout the house. The fact that he had to force himself to look at Cora during meals over the past couple days was worrying enough for the staff; not to mention their daughters. He had managed to focus on other subjects like Mary and Tom's thoughts on the housing developments, Rose's Russians and even Edith's column. Anything to avoid awkward silences and averted glances across the table.

He had to do something to ease his pain. He knew his hand would be easier to deal with than the pain he felt every time he saw his wife.

Robert pressed his ear to the door leading to Cora's room, listening for any sound of her. When he was confident he didn't hear any, he walked through the antechamber and apprehensively opened her door an inch; sighing in relief when he saw the room was empty. Pushing through, he started for Cora's washroom. She always had powders in there for emergencies - if one of them had an ache and didn't want to wait for a servant in the night. His hand was certainly an emergency but he didn't want a servant to bring him anything this time …again to avoid gossip. He didn't want it spread around that the lady of the house had a suitor in her bedroom. His injured hand and how they were clearly not on speaking terms would not reflect well. His uninjured hand quietly pushed her half-opened washroom door and he stepped forward.

He froze.

His heart thudded uncontrollably. She was taking a bath; her dark tresses piled on top of her head, held there with a pink ribbon. The sudsy skin of her shoulders and the slope of her neck glimmered toward him. He stood uncertainly, fretting over whether to announce himself. He needed the powder after all - but he stood rigidly, just watching her. Unaware of his presence, she brought the soap back to her shoulder then worked it nimbly over the back of her dipping neck. A perturbed groan stuck in his throat. She didn't hear it but at that moment she chose to untie the knotted ribbon, tossing it to the floor. He held a deep inhale as her hair spilled down her back. He fidgeted; his hands itching to sweep through her dark curls and slide over her creamy skin. God, she was beautiful. God, he loved her and because of how much, the pain in his hand was indeed more tolerable than standing there.

He turned around; not able to bare the stabbing to his heart and his throat any longer. He had almost retreated to his dressing room to surrender and ring for Bates. But then he heard it. A quiet sniff. A small whimper.

When he looked to her, her forehead had met her knees. Her back shook as she rocked herself slowly back and forth. He was still angry but he couldn't leave her like that. Could he?

He walked past the doorframe, lifted the chair near the bath and adjusted himself in it at her shoulders. He touched along the top of her spine, prompting her to jolt her head up.

"Robert!" she gasped and pulled her knees closer to her chest, trying to conceal herself. "What - what are you doing in here?" she stuttered, genuinely curious. He hadn't so much as looked at her, let alone spoken to her in days.

"I don't like to see you cry," he said simply; as emotionlessly as he could.

"But… how…when did you…?"

He rolled up his left sleeve awkwardly, with the thumb of his injured hand. He reached into the water for her soap. "May I?" he asked flatly.

She shook her head carefully. "Your hand…" she protested.

"My _hand_ will be fine," his gruff answer rippled through the air as the movement of his left hand rippled the water. He vigorously lathered the soap on the part of her back where she had difficulty reaching, down to the water and back up again.

She stared at his bandaged hand on his knee as his wrist circled quickly, pushing the bar of soap into her skin. Any amount of pain he felt, he matched the intensity of when he bore the soap deep into her flesh. It didn't hurt her, entirely. She focused on the opposite sensations and sat up straight - arching her back to the rhythm of his strokes.

After a moment of this strange juxtaposition of his affection and resentment - after hearing too many of her muted moans, he leaned toward the end of the chair so his hand could hook around the curve of her waist and splay against her stomach. His thumb dug into her navel. He released the soap and grunted restlessly. Lifting her chin to look at him, she found his concentrated but contorted face hovering near hers.

"Robert?"

"Damn," he cursed in pain, lifting his hand off her and out of the water to soothe his bandaged one. It throbbed relentlessly against his knee. He grimaced but attempted to ease the ache.

"Darling…" she drawled and he heard the distinct sound of water splashing. Stepping out of the bath, she walked toward the sink where she kept the powders. There was a glass sitting there since she had been especially prone to headaches the past couple days. She emptied a packet into the glass before she ran the faucet for a moment and shook the glass to mix it.

"You need this," she turned around and was not surprised to see Robert more or less ogling her. She was pleased if she provided him a temporary distraction from his pain as she walked to him. At an arm's reach away from him, she extended the glass to him. "Drink it," she ordered through a whisper. He took it reluctantly but relented, coughing out a murmur of 'thank you.'

"Oh, and your bandage!" She deplored. Through the fog of confusion at his appearance and the intoxicating feeling when he lathered and groped her, she hadn't realized how unravelled and loose it was. "Oh, it's all frayed here," she clicked her tongue as he swallowed the liquid down. She didn't need to ask if that was because he had been so bothered that he had picked away at it. She knew the answer. She knew his nervous habits.

She turned and bent down to reach for something at the base of the bathtub. Between her fingers, he saw it: the pink silk fabric that tied her hair up. Before he knew what was happening, she took the empty glass out of his hand and set it aside and settled on her knees by his chair.

"Let me," she placed his injured hand palm up on his knee and thread the silk around it - around his wrist, thumb and between his fingers. She tried to copy the pattern of how his original bandage had been tied. She gingerly placed a healing kiss to his knuckle when she was done. "It looks so painful," she hushed sympathetically.

"It is," he said bluntly, looking through her eyes that were staring up at him full of concern. She frowned and blinked down at the floor, only reminding him of the ashamed way she looked when he found her with Bricker in her bedroom.

"You will see the doctor," she insisted, leaving no room for question because she knew he would protest. Sure enough, she heard him open his mouth to argue but his breath died in mid-air. Instead the silence echoed in the room, engulfing them.

His eyes roamed down to her body and it wasn't until that moment that she felt completely naked - exposed. She hadn't felt this uncertain about being bare in front of him for thirty four years - not even after the births of their children. His gaze burned her as he took all of her in. She felt an odd mix of nerves, desire and desperation. She couldn't carry on much longer in the way they had for the past few days or, in all honesty, how they had for much longer than that. They needed to change. _Something_ needed to change…

She watched his expression shifting in that moment: a moment that felt much longer than it was. She saw desire, hesitation, anger - but mostly hurt dilate in between the blues of his eyes. He gulped and looked away, suddenly fascinated with her handiwork as a nurse. He stared at her ribbon stubbornly; leaving her feeling vulnerable and rejected below him. Cora ached to reach up and touch every part of him; to have him touch her like he used to. She knew she couldn't be the one to make that first move. She had hurt him too much; carved wounds she regretted.

"Right," he stammered as he stood. "I best get dressed. Bates will surely be wondering why I haven't rung…"

She watched his retreating form, as straight and even as he could manage before he made his escape through her bedroom. He didn't turn around. There was no attempted apologetic smile and she knew he wouldn't try to explain his brusque, antagonistic handle of her in the tub. No - it had been a momentary lapse on his part. She could tell by the way his hand felt. She had sensed his impulsive moment of weakness even when he pulled away from her to tend to his injury. She doubled over on the floor, clutching to where his hand still singed at her back.

It was then that she realized the reason he was even there at all. It wasn't to see her. He had hoped she wasn't there! With that blow to the stomach, Cora curled herself up against the cold ceramic of the tub and wept.

Baxter entered Cora's bedroom then with a handful of towels and was startled by his Lordship in his pyjamas breathing in the scent of her Ladyship's pink ribbon curled around his fist. He didn't acknowledge Baxter but felt a malicious triumph when he heard her concerned, "Oh, milady! Heavens, let me help you!" before Cora's choked cries. He shut the dressing room door tightly behind him.

It was worrying that, though he knew he didn't like it, for the first time in their marriage he realized that part of him wanted her to cry. He shuddered knowing the sick satisfaction he felt was stronger than his need to truly repair anything. And that scared him because he couldn't see when it would change. He removed her ribbon and tucked it under his pillow and rang for Bates.


	4. Chapter 4

**set in 5.08. Italicized words are not mine.**

" _Since we're all here, I've decided what to do about the cottages. I'm going to sell the della Francesca. I've been to Sotheby's and they're confident we'll get a good price_ ," Robert informed the drawing room. Cora took a deep breath where she sat in front him, unable to make eye contact with him through glassy eyes. She didn't like this at all. Robert used to boast about the painting whenever he had the opportunity and now he was selling it? It was because of her. Well, because of her and Bricker.

" _Are you sure, Papa? But you've always been so proud of it_ ," Mary voiced Cora's thoughts.

" _I don't enjoy it as I did_ ," he expelled harshly. Cora sweltered; feeling as if the whole room knew she was reason for his lack of enjoyment. Her stomach cramped and it felt like knives from her throat to her ribs when she listened to Robert explaining. " _My Papa always said one should only sell for a purpose and I agree. The good of the village can be that purpose_."

Robert was making his way across the room to pour another drink when Tom replied, " _I'm pleased. Now we can get on with the work as soon as we're home...shall we_?" he led Mary to sit at a table across the room.

Robert busied himself by pouring his drink. He felt Cora approaching him and without saying anything, took her glass from her to refill as well. He didn't want to hurt her about the painting. He couldn't look at her without feeling ashamed about the previous months.

" _I've spoiled the painting for you, haven't I? With Mr. Bricker. That's why you're selling_ ," he heard her small voice laden with guilt and it made him want to smash his glass.

" _Yes_."

She hung her head dejectedly, making Robert feel worse for letting her think she was solely to blame. He didn't trust her and that was every bit as hurtful as harmless flirting. They say it takes two but Robert knew he had worsened the wedge between them by not initiating conversation or anything else with her. No, he just wallowed in his jealousy.

" _But not in the way you think," he went on. "Every time I look at it, I am reminded that I didn't trust you and I feel so angry with myself, I want to be rid of it_."

She looked up at him; surprised by the admission. As their eyes met, she blinked down shyly but quickly tilted her chin up to search his face. The apologetic yearning pooled in his eyes made her want to jump into his arms. Whether to cry onto his shoulder or kiss him senseless, she didn't know, but she knew she needed to be in him arms.

"Really?" she mouthed.

He grabbed her wrist, stepping closer to her. "Of course, Cora..."

"You don't have to sell," she bit her lip nervously. "Surely there's another way-"

"-No," he insisted. "I do. I want to."

"But Mary's right, you've been so proud of it."

He pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her gloved knuckles discreetly before dropping their joined hands between them. "Not as proud as I am of you - of us - and I fail to think of anything I wouldn't give up for that, Cora. I've let you down."

"You've done no such thing, Robert," she countered. "Although," she added with an air of intrigue, pulling their hands apart. She grabbed their drinks and extended one to him. "I think we should put these months behind us but promise to learn from them."

"I promise," he assured quickly, as if it were reflex. His sincerity, however, was not tarnished by the immediate reply. He watched her lip curl up slightly on one side. He wanted to kiss away the half-frown that remained but the family surrounded them so he compromised by intertwining their fingers again with their hands free from drink. He leaned closer to her. "I promise to trust you. I'm sorry that I didn't always. It must have been hurtful, darling, and I hate that I'm the one who's hurt you."

She blinked her eyes shut, absorbing his words, reopening them at his conciliatory squeeze to her hand. "I'm sorry too. For responding to my hurt by hurting you back."

He lifted his glass. "To us," he toasted optimistically.

She smiled as she clinked her glass to his. "May we be closer in the days ahead."

"I can certainly drink to that," he winked with lips sitting at the rim of his glass. She sipped her drink and Robert beamed at the rosy hue on her cheeks, hidden behind her glass. Robert took another more generous sip as his gaze flickered between her eyes and lips. Her pulse quickened. She set aside her drink clumsily when she heard Carson's words from the other side of the room. Robert, of course, heard nothing - too busy was he admiring her beauty and the blush he created.

" _I am sorry to disturb you, m'lady, but Miss Denker is not well, so Miss Baxter will look after you tonight_."

" _Will she be all right_?" Violet asked.

" _It's nothing serious, m'lady_."

" _Thank you_."

Robert's forehead scrunched in confusion when Cora suddenly dashed away. He watched as she skipped across the room toward the door, stopping Carson before he exited. Robert followed behind her diligently and reached her when she instructed, "Carson – please thank Baxter for attending to the Dowager. Tell her that her workload has not doubled as I do not require her assistance this evening."

"Very good, m'lady," he bowed his head steadily then reached for the door.

"And Carson," came Robert's impulsive interjection behind her. Carson turned on his heels. "Tell Bates that he will not be needed upstairs tonight either."

They saw Carson's brow lift slightly but he recovered quickly and gave a curt nod before turning away. Robert stepped closer to Cora and wrapped his arm across her waist, planting a kiss to the back of her head.

"Robert," she warned through a giggle, losing her balance as he spun her around to face him. He steadied her with a hand at the curve of her hip. Her laughter was cut off by his eyes frisking her, warming her, especially so because they were in the formal drawing room.

"Let's say goodnight," he rasped his desire, his thumb urging across the curve of her waist.

All she could do was nod.

* * *

Robert watched from behind her chair as she set her earrings in her jewellery tray, the light tinging sound the only noise in their room. He lifted her pearls over her head and set them on her vanity before he eased her tiara off; pleased with her groan of relief as he did. He rubbed circles into her skull, easing away the tension she felt there, and her head tilted forward in approval. Looking at the creamy skin of her neck, he couldn't resist firmly massaging up from the top of her spine to her hair line, digging deeply into her skin. Her head dipped further down at the pressure, and she purred at his warm touch. He kissed and nipped at any exposed skin from her neck to her shoulders, pulling the pins from her hair in practiced motions; neither of them caring that they scattered across the floor. He closed his eyes into her curls and inhaled deeply; the smell of her inciting deep murmurs by her ear.

"Darling. Cora. So lovely..." she heard him hush. She shivered at the sensation he caused surging through her body. His hands settled on her shoulders, rolling her muscles under his palms and kneading at her collarbones.

"Mmm," she droned appreciatively as he persisted in soothing her muscles. He tugged at the fabric of her sleeve, exposing a bare shoulder. His lips eagerly suckled across her warm skin. She closed her eyes in pleasure and felt his hands drape around her front, pressing lightly to her stomach. She exhaled loudly.

"You are extraordinary," he rasped against the base of her throat.

Excitement stirred within her when she caught his wicked smile through the mirror. He teased her, his hands purposefully gliding up to her ribs at a tortuous pace. The satin of her dress chafed back and forth against her stomach before he finally settled his grip just below her breasts. Lifting her arms off her lap and hooking them over his, she coaxed him to continue his path upward. He bit at her earlobe at the same moment he pinched lightly over her hardening nipples. Cora groaned and craned her neck sideways; capturing his lips with hers. She nibbled at his lower lip greedily before she slid her tongue into his mouth. He moaned deeply, savouring the feeling of their mouths locked together before pulling back to place feather-like kisses across her cheek; tickling her.

Cora pivoted in her chair and clutched below his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his jacket. He stood up straight, lifting her off her chair with him, his hand placed tenderly between the curve of her waist and her breast. She leaned into him, delighted when he did not delay shedding away the fabric at her sleeves, fervently peeling the silk off her body. When it met the floor, she toed it away from her, followed by her shoes.

She stood in the centre of their bedroom away from home in her thin slip, her dinner gloves and an elated smile. She stripped her gloves off slowly, giving him a poised smirk as she did. She carelessly tossed them toward the vanity and lunged for his collar, untying his white tie hastily. She heard his breathing shallow as she pulled at each button down his torso. As she unfastened him, he ripped off his coat.

Cora's eyes widened at the sight of him in this state of undress. She missed him like this: panting, his chest pronounced with each breath. His hair was visible through his thin undershirt and when she ran her nails up and down his arms, his nipples poked through. She sighed, rubbing against him, her mouth at his Adam's apple, trailing warm kisses along his neck. She moaned when he pulled her tightly to him. "God," she cursed, feeling his arousal. "Yes."

She bucked against it as their lips met in another heated kiss. Robert's fingers danced along the edge of her slip before he bunched it up in his palm. The rising fabric distracted them from their kiss when it met her waist. She was surprised by her own bashful giggle when she lifted her arms above her head. His nervous chuckle in reply bolstered her confidence and after he threw her slip beside them, he was astonished by the unrestrained smile that lit up her face. His stare simmered over her body and he watched her intently, his pupils dilating further, as she released the ties of her undergarments. He recovered from his trance only because she stepped closer to him, laying her hands on his chest. She smoothed down the fabric of his shirt, captivated by his robust form under her palms, before slipping her hands underneath and exploring his stomach. Scraping over his calloused skin, around to his back – she keenly divested him of the hindering material. Her lips brushed across his exposed chest, plaguing him each time she almost reached a nipple by diverting her kisses away. He grunted and felt her smile against his breastbone before she relented, her tongue wetting its way to the stiffened peak, squirming when he squeezed her behind in response. She stood straight and scratched at the back of his neck, pulling him down for a frenzied kiss.

She reeled backward into his loose hold when he massaged her breast hungrily, rolling her pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His almost cruel chortle frustrated her and when she whined into his neck, her teeth sinking into his skin, he alleviated her by releasing her breast and bringing his hand to her thigh. His touch was slow and deliberate as he moved upward: another type of anguish. "Oh..." she moaned in contented agony as he caressed over her wetness in a way he knew got her hot and bothered. "Oh, my God," she ached.

When she fingered his length slowly before gripping it through his trousers, his administrations halted, giving her the opportunity to yank at his waistband, pulling down his underthings with his trousers. Stepping out of them, he wrapped his arms firmly around her waist, pulling her naked frame against his. She hugged him back, securing him to her, not minding how her chest squashed to his.

"My dearest one," he pleaded, planting a lingering kiss to her forehead. Cora stifled a sob; it had been so long since he called her that. "My darling," he continued, kissing his way along her hairline to her ear. His hands were loose at her hipbones and he took slow strides toward their bed, guiding her with each movement, not letting go. "My love," his earnest whisper was her undoing.

"Oh, my dear. Robert," she breathed affectionately as she dropped onto the mattress, hastily adjusting herself onto her back, expecting him to follow her. She anticipated his gratifying weight on top of her. She painfully craved the sensation of joining with him so at their brief loss of contact, she looked up impatiently.

"Cora," he sighed almost wistfully, as if he was ruminating over memories of her; as if he missed her even as he gazed down at her. The soft way he uttered her name increased her desire for him even more. She extended her hand to him.

"Please, darling."

He lowered himself onto and over her. After another passionate kiss, he entered her slowly, before pulling back to ease himself into her and set a steady pace. Her pattern of moans and gasps into his neck spurred him to drive into her faster. She couldn't help but arch her hips upward matching the rhythm of his unhindered thrusts. His low moans near her ear prompted her to race her fingers through his hair and pull him down to her breasts. He suckled the warmth of the skin by her collarbone, concentrating on her sighs. He cupped a breast, pleased at the effect this had on her, the tone of her mumbling getting more desperate and incoherent.

"My god-" he exclaimed, rising just enough so he could reach down to where they were joined and stroke her sensitive bud with the pads of his fingers, brushing in continuous circles. The look of pure pleasure over her face thrilled him. Her eyes were heavy and she bit into her lip, trying unsuccessfully to contain squeaks that sounded vaguely like his name.

She unravelled under him a moment later, her body shaking. He watched as she writhed and stretched erotically under him, her pulsating reaction doing heavenly things to him. He was on the precipice of release himself; torn between not wanting to stop but also needing release. She looked so beautiful, relaxed and flushed beneath him. With thoughts of her gratified whimpers a few minutes before and hearing her divine sighs under him, he felt himself spilling into her.

A strangled groan caught in his throat, followed by a loud grunt and moans of satisfaction. He stilled; his weight draped over her. She kissed his cheek reverently before Robert recovered enough to tilt her chin and peck velvet-soft kisses to her lips. He rolled off of her and scooped her into his arms, her head on his chest.

"And may we be closer in the days ahead..." Cora drawled the words she spoke earlier in the drawing room, playing with the hair at his chest lazily.

"If that's a question, darling, my answer is irrefutably 'yes'. I've missed being close to you."

He felt her draw back at his words, carefully gauging his expression. He quickly amended, "and I don't mean just like this -" he manoeuvred her back against him.

"I know. I've missed all the ways of being close with you too," she felt his heartbeat under her palm. "I won't let us be disconnected again," she paused, considering her next words. "I'm sorry for misjudging Mr. Bricker's intentions and worse, for listening to his words over yours-"

"I should have been more tactful with my choice of words. I knew he was interested in you, yes, but I was indignant."

"But, you had reason to be. And I didn't believe that," she gulped. "I thought he was harmless. It meant nothing to me and if I knew what he wanted, I couldn't have entertained the idea of having him as a guest."

"And I should have trusted that. I had no reason not to. There have been at least a dozen 'Bricker' types interested in you over the past thirty four years. I don't know why I behaved so, so -"

"-so?"

"Like a Donk?"

Cora's laughter filled the room and she silenced herself by bringing his hand to her lips. "I thought you hated being called that."

"I do," he agreed. "But it seems to fit here."

"Well, you're my Donk," she insisted, almost possessively and squeezed his hand between hers.

"Hmm, as long as I'm yours, I don't care what I'm called."

"You might regret saying that later."

He shrugged, the after effect of their lovemaking not giving him enough energy to retract his statement. Cora rolled her eyes in amusement and reached down to grab the blankets to cover them. Robert shifted onto his side and cradled her smaller body to his.

"And you're sure about the cottages?" she asked apprehensively.

"Della Francesca be damned, my dear," he swore against her shoulder blade. His voice softened and he reassured, "you know, before we were married I was taught how marriage was about sacrifice. I assumed that meant I would deprive myself for those sacrifices. What I didn't understand is how natural those sacrifices are, my dear, and how easy it is to let go of just about anything – for the right person."

"Oh, Robert…"

"Of course you already knew that from the beginning. Yes, I'm sure," he guaranteed with his chin on her shoulder. He kissed her cheek to solidify his point, his lips and his words making her quiver happily.

"You should tell that to Rose tomorrow and incite some hope for the newlywed couple. They have obstacles to face, to be sure."

"I've already told her."

"You did?" she tossed over, brushing her fingernails against his jaw, delving for information.

"Well, I told her it's best not to pretend it will be plain sailing. And of course, Rose being Rose, she probed me for information about you and me. She asked if it was difficult for us, given our differences in background. And of course, I could only encourage her and Atticus after that conversation. And it made me realize just how much I will always give up for you. So, I have no doubts that I'm doing the right thing by selling."

Cora felt a tear roll off her cheek. "I love you, Robert."

He cupped her cheeks in his palms. "I love you more -"

"Not possible," she defended.

"No, you didn't let me finish speaking. I meant to say that I love you more than anything. I love _you_ the most."

"Oh," he saw her eyes twinkle. "Does that mean we can get rid of that old, damaged settee in my sitting room that you seem to like so much?"

"Don't push your luck."

* * *

 **But why does Robert like that settee so much?**

 **I kind of got inspiration for the 'I love you more line' from a cobert post I saw on tumblr but I couldn't find it to post.**

 **Smut can be such a struggle to write but I don't believe these two had an uneventful night that evening. So, there.**


End file.
